


Fate/Counterfeit

by Balladbird



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Other, Supernatural Elements, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-03-28 16:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balladbird/pseuds/Balladbird
Summary: One day in the year of 2030, all mana vanished from the face of the earth. This story, an alternate retelling of the events leading up to this, is a tragedy of ambition, revenge, and fourteen souls willing to risk their lives for a single chance to make the impossible a reality.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:  
The players assemble (part 1)

Tin Man  
Glasgow, Scotland  
September 15th, 2030  
6:45 PM

 

Carlo rose from his knees and wiped his brow, looking down at his handiwork with a sense of smug satisfaction. A broad circle, colored the silvery red of the blend of blood and mercury which had painted it, stretched across just more than three meters of the concrete floor of the warehouse. He was never an artistic man, but he had to confess that he’d outdone himself this time! There were lines drawn in intersecting arrays, which formed a star pattern within the circular border. Along these lines he’d inscribed a series of runes, which he used to spell out the summoning incantation his family had kept hidden away for generations.

He had been busy for the past three hours, alone in the center of the long-deserted warehouse he had purchased for this purpose. The interior of the building itself was naught but a wide, empty expanse of dust and concrete, completely concealed from the outer world save for the skylights arranged in the ceiling above him, which deposited the ever-decreasing light of the setting sun outside to illuminate him as he labored. This was good. Space and privacy were the two ingredients he required most of all. The ritual this venue would play host to this evening was one that needed to remain a secret.

The tip of his toe found its way to the base of the painted canvas beneath him, causing the entire array to glow faintly. The ingredients of the paint he’d used were designed to be a catalyst for magical energy, and true to this design he could feel his magic circuits- the web of veinlike pathways his body had developed to allow the flow of mana from his core- flare open and pulse with anticipation in response to the contact. This amused Carlo, but he forced the flow of energy to halt for now. This summoning circle itself was only half of what he needed to perform his miracle.

The sound of chains pulling and metal scraping on metal suddenly echoed throughout the area, forcing him to abandon his ruminations and self-congratulations, and instead to cast a bright green eye towards the large retractable door that served as the entrance to the warehouse. The door itself was large and heavy, only opened from a locked panel on either side of the front wall, which would cause it to retract up into the ceiling. He had a visitor, and a small smile crossed his lips as he realized who it was. The orange light of the setting sun flooded into the warehouse from its new aperture, impeded by nothing, save the outline of a young woman. 

She was short, almost exceptionally so, with a thin frame concealed inside a modest gray blouse and a skirt of similar color, which extended down to her calves. Her limbs were stubby, and one of her arms rested on a sling, which was used to connect a large object to her back. Her black hair was cut into a short bob that framed the pointed features of her face, and she peered into the darkness of the warehouse with dark brown eyes protected by the thick lenses of her glasses.

“Do you have any idea hard it was to find this place, Carlo?” She announced with some frustration, squinting for a moment to confirm that he was there before she finally started to head inside to meet with him. He chuckled warmly at this, shrugging melodramatically.  
“But you found it! See? I was right to have faith in you, Jessica! You even brought my catalyst with you. Aww, it’s almost as big as you are! It’s kinda cute to see you lugging it around.” He crossed his arms and nodded, as if in agreement with himself. Jessica gave his words all the consideration she felt they deserved, which is to say, none at all, and simply walked over to him. The item he spoke of was what she had slung over her shoulder: a kite shield whose outline he could barely see above the strap on her shoulder that supported it. If she’d found it then both of the components of his ritual were here at last.

Jessica abruptly came to a stop a few steps shy of him, however, her lips twisting into a grimace as she brought a hand over her nose protectively. 

“Did something die in here? It reeks.” Her body shook in repulsion as she spoke, but it took Carlo a moment to understand what she was talking about. When it clicked in his mind, he snapped his fingers, and jerked his head toward the circle he’d assembled.

“Oh, right. My nose had gone blind to it, so I forgot. I thought the mercury would help the blood to keep fresh for longer, and it spread out fine when I made the circle, but it definitely has an odor to it.” Jessica moved closer to the circle as he said this, her hand still masking her lower face as she crouched to inspect his handiwork.

“Wait, is this human blood?” She looked back at the young mage, her expression perplexed. She had been his assistant since he came of age, many years ago. At thirty-three years old, she was seven years his senior, although any who saw them would assume the gap to be in the opposite direction. Carlo was a tall, lanky man, well over six feet tall. Not only was his height imposing, but he had the importance of image impressed upon him at a young age. (in no small amount by Jessica herself.) As the mage who inherited his family’s crest, it was important that any stranger could tell his importance at a glance. As such, he was normally clad in a dark blue silk blazer with matching slacks and black, wing-tip shoes. His dishwater blonde hair was kept somewhat long, running most of the way down his neck, but kept shining with the gel which slicked back his bangs.

“Well, yeah! Oh, but it’s not like I killed anyone, or anything. Other countries are quite gung-ho about executions. Earlier this year I just arranged to buy the blood from a pair of inmates with high magical potential. You know, take advantage of a bad situation to-” He stopped himself abruptly, his eyes going wide. He gritted his teeth and cast his gaze downward. “Ah, I understand your reaction now. I thought a normal person would behave as I had, since I didn’t kill anyone myself. Your expression tells me that my pragmatism in this situation was still a bit too callous. A normal person would find what I’ve done horrifying.” His voice changed as he said this, taking on a somber tone, as though he were a child who had just lost at a game. 

“Oh, stop pouting.” replied Jessica, sensing the change in his mood. “Learning that kind of thing is what you want to win the grail for in the first place, right? I’ll be supporting you during the war, so I can keep you straight until then.” She reached around her shoulder, letting the shield fall free against the strap she used to hold it aloft. It was a large, beautiful item: three feet tall and half as wide, and made from lacquered wood. The front of it was emblazoned with a red lion imposed on a field half white and half green. The beast stood up on his hind legs, brandishing his front paws against the border of the frame.

“You’re right, of course. Place the catalyst at the head of the circle there,” He gestured toward the position he meant, and she moved to comply. “Once it’s set I’ll go ahead and start the incantation.”

As Jessica set the shield into place and then shuffled wordlessly to the side, Carlo stood at the base of the circle he’d created, his right hand raised. He took a deep breath, then exhaled and did so again, closing his eyes and trying to calm the racing of his heart. If this ritual succeeded, then his path would be set. He would either emerge a victor and have his wish granted, or he would die. This knowledge didn’t bother him, as indeed, few things did, but he was nevertheless feeling a sense of anticipation. No need for hesitation anymore. He opened his eyes, and the instant he did he banished all stray thoughts from his mind. He allowed one foot to touch the edge of the circle, and began to cycle all the mana in his body through his magic circuits, causing the glowing of the circle to grow ever more intense.

“I am Carlo Toscano Eniede. My will shall create your body, and your sword shall shape my destiny.” There was a tremendous flow of magical energy in the air, so intense that it felt like a brewing storm trapped inside the confines of the warehouse. Jessica could feel wind produced by the magical flow ripple and whip around her body, and watched, transfixed, as the light of Carlo’s circle soon outshone even the evening sun itself.

“If you heed the Grail’s call, and obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning. I hereby swear that I shall be all that is good in this world. I shall defeat all evil in this world. Seventh heaven clad, and the great words of power spoken, come forth from the circle of binding, guardian of scales!” The back of Carlo’s right hand began to burn tremendously as he finished the incantation, a pain so great that only the adrenaline surging through his body prevented him from crying out in response to it. A pattern was beginning to take shape there, burned into his flesh, but before he could make sense of it there was a tremendous sound, like a clap of thunder, and a forceful shockwave erupted from a growing vortex in the center of the circle. 

Carlo was knocked backward, landing in a seated position as the forceful wind whipped all the dust in the area up into the air, creating an obscuring fog. He could hear Jessica’s scream from somewhere in the building, no doubt a reaction to being blown backward as well, but he couldn’t see her between the clouds of dust and the growing light from the center of the vortex. He attempted to call for her, but his throat became agitated from all the dust he’d inhaled, and instead of making any intelligible sound he began to hack and cough. The air had grown calm again, and as the dust settled his eyes were drawn back toward his circle.

The light he had witnessed hadn’t faded. It was humanoid in shape, standing amid the dust and debris like an angel descended from heaven. As he watched, the details of the figured began to grow clear, and a feeling of triumph washed over him. He looked up at the one he had summoned, and then down at his injured right hand. An elaborate symbol had been branded into it: a series of curved, sharp lines which created an emblem that slightly resembled an eye. It was the sign he’d been accepted… that his war had begun. His coughing gradually changed its form, becoming a passionate laugh that erupted from his core, echoing throughout the empty building. He had finished all his preparations now… it was time to head west.

 

Dorothy  
Central City, Missouri  
September 21st, 2030  
11:45 AM

“You lose again, Archer! I thought outlaws played games like this all the time.” Cassidy reached toward the center of the table the pair were playing cards on, scooping all the chips that had been gathered there into a pile at her side. Her companion did the same to the cards after she withdrew, straightening them out in his hands before beginning to shuffle them. They were relaxing in her home, playing a friendly game. She hadn’t even bothered to change out of her pajamas today- a pair of blue sweat pants and a t-shirt.

“This variation of poker didn’t exist in my day, Master. As I said when you proposed we play it, and then repeated when you teased me for losing the first time.” He repeated the process of sorting and shuffling the cards a second and third time, before returning them to their box, bringing the stack of cardboard up to his eyes to make sure it was perfectly straight.

“Huh, really?” Cassidy pursed her lips, looking at the older man wide-eyed, as if to imply this was the first time she’d heard his words. “I thought you said that when you were summoned, the grail gave you all the information you would need about the modern world.” She had wanted to play further, but presumed his return of the cards to their box to be a silent declaration of boredom, and allowed the idea to fade away. Instead, she reached a hand behind her head and pulled her long red ponytail over her shoulder, stroking the hair thoughtfully, as was her habit when she found herself lost in thought. Her hair was so long that the tip of the tail reached almost to the base of her spine, and was immaculately brushed and cleaned to such an extent that it almost shined. 

“It’s true that I’m mighty informed about how things work now. You won’t see me stopping to gape at cars in the street, and I ain’t gonna marvel about all the little people in the TV. Still, it’s not like the grail felt the need to tell me everything, and would you fancy that? It turns out this ‘texas hold ‘em’ poker apparently wasn’t important enough to come up when I was summoned.” Her servant responded sardonically, watching his master with his piercing, steel-blue eyes. He had a shock of black hair which was combed forward so that his bangs fell around his eyes, but he had meticulously sculpted them so that every strand fell around his gaze without impeding his sight. It was a style that seemed wild and unmanageable, but was actually the result of careful and precise planning.

“Well, it’s lame, regardless.” said Cassidy with a shrug, losing interest in her hair and leaning back in her chair, returning his steely blue gaze with her own warm, brown one. “Gambling is the same thing as life. There’s no point in one without the other. People don’t really understand the value of what they have until they risk losing it in their rush to get more.” She looked at the pile of chips she had accumulated during their game with a wistful smile.

“A simple, but surprisingly eloquent sentiment, coming from you,” Conceded her servant. “is that what you’re doing here, then? Did you enter the holy grail war just for the sake of gambling?”

“You’re goddamn right, I did! I don’t think a gamble exists that’s bigger than the holy grail war. The winner gains everything, the losers lose everything. It’s the epitome of high risk-high return.” She puffed her chest out proudly, thumping her fist above the modest swell of her breasts. “I barely have a wish for the thing itself. The act of fighting for it is basically everything I’ve ever wanted in life.”

“You realize this means you’re going to be responsible for the deaths of a dozen people, no? I’m not a stranger to the act of murder, innocent or otherwise, but it seems like that’s something normal people wouldn’t cotton to.”

“Well, it’s not like I enjoy the thought of killing people, but it doesn’t really bother me, either. They’re making the same gamble I am, the thrill would be gone if the stakes weren’t high. Besides, it’s not like any of them would hesitate to kill me.” In truth, she was no stranger to risking her life. She brought a fingertip to her temple, tracing a small circle against the skin there, remembering how cold the gun barrel had felt; remembering how her heart had raced as she watched that coin dance in the air.

“Fine, fine. I’ll do my part to handle the brunt of the dirty work, regardless. Women and children don’t belong on the battlefield.”

“Aww! That’s as sweet as it is patronizing. Don’t expect too much support from me when it comes to other servants, though. Apparently I have mage ancestors, since I was able to channel enough mana to summon you, but I don’t know any magic. I guess I could go buy a gun or something, but you’re probably a better shot than I am, anyway.”

“That would end poorly. Guns wouldn’t do anything against a servant. I’d actually prefer you stay hidden rather than help me out, anyway.”

“Oh? What’s that for, then?” She asked, pointing toward his hip. He was wearing a long, tan duster over a black button-up dress shirt and cotton pants that were held in place by a leather belt with one holster on either side, each housing the bright silver form of a Colt revolver. He followed her point, and upon seeing what she referred to he let out a soft sigh of frustration, but calmed himself. She had jumped into this situation without truly understanding it, after all, and his survival would depend on her learning fast.

“When a servant is summoned by the grail, they fill one of seven roles depending on the weapon they used in their legend. I’m a gunslinger, so I was assigned to the archer class, which stands for all ranged weapon users. As a servant, these weapons may look like my ol’ six-shooters, but they’re actually a representation of magical power called a ‘noble phantasm.’ Noble phantasms of like power to a servant, or magic of the highest order, are the only ways a servant can be killed.” This was an oversimplification of things, but he hoped it would convey the futility of her attempts to help him all the same. She nodded thoughtfully to this, her hands returning to her ponytail, so he continued.

“Listen, master, if the holy grail war is a game of poker, then you masters are the players sitting at the table, and we servants are cards you’re dealt. We’re connected- if one of us wins, the other wins. Your mana keeps me anchored to this world. If you die, I die not long after. We have to fill the roles given to us, just like this were a hand of poker. My job is to be a hand stronger than every other card on the table, and your job will be to look for weaknesses in the other players and exploit those weaknesses. If you’re not content to stay hidden and let me fight your battles, then focus on findin’ a way to take out the enemy masters, if a servant is too powerful, killing the master who supplies ‘em with mana would be the best way to get around them. Whatever you do, though, never pick a fight with a servant.”

“So, I just stand around and let you fight the other servants, unless the other servants start kicking your ass around, in which case I try to take out their masters? Fine, I can dig that. I prefer to have little control over the outcome, anyway. That’s what makes gambling fun!” Her heart started to race. She had a basic idea of what a holy grail war entailed: that seven mages would appeal to the grail’s power to summon seven servants, and that they would fight until only one master-servant pair remained alive, but she hadn’t really given much thought to the tactics beyond that.  
“Besides, the archer class excels at independent action. By default I require less support from my master than any other servant in the war. When the other masters arrive in this city, we’ll go our separate ways for a while. You try to find a place to stay safe, and I’ll gather information on the enemy servants. If worst comes to worst, and you need my help, just use this.”He extended one of his long, bony hands and placed it on top of her right hand, gently touching the brand of tribal lines that had been burned into the back of it.

“The thing that got burned into me when I summoned you?” She asked.

“That ‘thing’ is a tattoo that represents your command seals. Not only does it identify you as a master in the holy grail war, it represents three orders you can give your servant that the grail will absolutely force them to obey. If you decide you want me to do something and I refuse, you can use on of these orders to force me, but that’d be wasteful. Command seals are best used to help your servant do something that would otherwise be impossible. For instance, if we’re separated and you find yourself in danger, announce that you wish to use a command seal to order me to appear before you. I can’t teleport, but the holy grail’s power can do the teleportin’ for me. One of your command seals will be consumed, and I’ll be magically pulled away from wherever I am and taken directly to your side.”

“I feel like I should be writing all this down, but ah well.” Cassidy laughed, at the very least it seemed simple enough. She reached beneath the table, where she kept a two-liter bottle of soda, grabbed the bottle and pulled it up, looking at the design on the back of her hand as she did. It had hurt so badly when it burned itself into her skin that she had nearly lost her concentration during the summoning, but at least it was useful. She poured some soda into a glass, and took a long drag from it, feeling refreshed, though as she went to set the glass back down, Archer glared at her, pointing to a stack of coasters she had on the table next to the box of cards.

“You ‘should’ have known all of this going in, but it’s fine. Don’t forget you only have three of those command seals. If you use all three, then the pact that binds us as master and servant will be dissolved, and the holy grail will no longer recognize you as a master in the running to claim it. Moderation, oh wayward gambler.”

“I got it, I got it.” She yawned, pulling a coaster off the pile and setting it onto the table so that she could rest her cup without getting death glares from her own servant. His sarcastic disposition, and those cold, piercing eyes of his made him seem aloof and uncaring, but it was clear by the way he’d treated her since she summoned him that there was a warm, almost paternal kindness somewhere in his heart. She had assumed he would be much more crass and evil. He was a famous outlaw when he was alive, after all. Not that she minded having a reliable servant if she was going to be risking her life. 

As the morning ended, and the afternoon began, Cassidy decided she wanted to just stay in today. If Archer’s theory was correct, she had only a matter of days before the other masters headed west, toward their home town. When that happened, her peaceful days would be gone for a little while, but the thrill that would replace them would more than make up for it. She finished off the last of the soda in her cup, and smiled, filled with a sudden confidence. With her unbreakable luck, and with Archer representing her, she could win this thing. She went to replace her empty cup on the coaster, but was surprised to find that Archer now glared at her again. She got ready to protest, but he jerked his finger toward the sink. She frowned at this, rolling her eyes as if to say “okay, mom,” and got up to place her cup into the sink. Perhaps he was a bit too paternal.

 

Glenda the Good Witch  
Central City International Airport  
September 21st, 2030  
4:10 PM

The population density of the Central City airport was insane, even by the standards of an airport at rush hour. It felt as though every last inch of the halls connecting the luminescent white terminals was filled with people, packed shoulder to shoulder, and pushing in every direction as they scrambled madly to get to their gates. Frustration and stress seemed to radiate from everyone, and the only comprehensible sound was the din of a thousand simultaneous conversations.

Margaret was unaccustomed to crowds. Indeed, prior to her current journey, she had lived as a shut-in: Sequestered in her mansion in the outskirts of Bristol, England, and more than content to allow the rest of humanity to while away its minutes without her. The contrast between that isolation and her current situation was palpable, and she could feel an anxiety attack beginning to swell in her chest as she tried to move forward. She did promise her servant that she would steel herself for the battle ahead, so it wouldn’t do to let herself be defeated before the war even began, even if her foe was something as formidable as an airport crowd. 

So it was she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trusting her servant- the man who was now walking ahead of her- to guide her toward her vehicle. The slender, wrinkled fingers of her tiny hand was clutched tightly around the ash-gray fabric of the blazer she had picked out for him, (having deciding it would be for the best to have him look like any of the other businessmen a setting like this saw an endless supply of,) and she walked closely behind him, letting him breach the ocean of people before them as though she were a car behind a locomotive. 

She was an old woman now. She didn’t know when that had happened, but with well over sixty years behind her now, it was a truth she could no longer deny. Her hair was so silver that it shone, though she still grew it long like she had in her youth, and kept it bound in a bun behind her head. Her warm brown eyes were now sunk deep in her skull, and peered out from a face that had developed long, deep wrinkles over the course of a very hard life. 

By contrast, her servant was a tall and handsome man who looked no older than his early forties. His broad shoulders filled out the blazer she’d prepared for him, and his height gave him an imposing presence, even from behind, as he stood close to seven feet, which gave him more than a half body length over his comparatively tiny master. He weaved his way through the crowd with an effortless combination of strength and elegance, ever-careful not to leave Margaret behind as they gradually advanced toward the entrance, occasionally taking a look over his shoulder to make sure she was still okay. Dark eyes, short but wild brown hair, and a groomed beard on his chin. He didn’t quite look like the hero she remembered reading about as a child, but something about his bearing did confirm for her that he really was a legendary hero, someone whose name had been etched into human history forever. 

The sojourn took ten minutes, but the younger man fulfilled his role with aplomb. Soon they had reached the baggage claim area, where he found the suitcase she’d prepared, lugged it over his shoulder effortlessly, then guided her toward the row of glass double doors separating the airport from the world outside. Margaret let herself relax now, taking a deep breath of the chilled, early-autumn air, and allowing her eyes to open all the way. Among the series of cabs and rental cars was a conspicuous black limousine, with the chauffeur- a chubby, unkempt man in an ill-fitting suit standing beside the passenger door- holding a piece of cardboard with the name MARGARET CRESTWOOD scrawled over it.

“Seems we’ve found the man to draw our chariot, Master.” Her servant looked back at her again, chuckling to himself.

“Let’s not judge by appearances, Lancer,” She chided gently, raising a hand to let the chauffeur know his charge had arrived. He panicked for a moment at this, shuffling toward the other end of the vehicle to open the door for them. Lancer entered first, clasping a hand on the other man’s shoulder in a manner he meant to be encouraging, but which may have accidentally done more to be intimidating. He ducked his large body down and slid into the vehicle, looking around at the interior for a moment, as though assessing all was safe, before beckoning for Margaret to follow. She did as she was bade, taking the seat beside her servant as the door was shut behind her. Their driver now awkwardly made his way back to his own position, and before long the cab began to vibrate as the car was drawn away from the parking area. 

“Are you feeling well, Master? I can tell the trip was draining for you.” Lancer leaned back against the leather upholstery, seeming to enjoy the feel of it. This made sense to Margaret. He may have been informed of how the modern world worked, but this was still his first personal experience with it.

“Oh, don’t worry for me. I may look frail, but I’m durable enough to have lived this long.” Margaret reassured him, looking out the window at the streets that flew past them. It wasn’t that she disliked people, necessarily, she actually didn’t mind watching them go about their lives from a distance, separated by glass and steel like this, where she couldn’t hurt them.

“True enough. I’ll say no more about it then. In that case,” He reached for the button embedded into the armrest of his chair, raising the soundproof divider that separated the driver’s side of the cab from the passenger’s. “Have you decided on your strategy? We won’t have long to get settled before the fighting begins.”

“I decided to do things as you asked. I purchased a house in a suburban area a few kilometers outside the city. It’s on top of a leyline, so it’ll make an ideal atelier. Once we arrive, I’ll erect the most powerful magical barrier I’m capable of, and that will be where I remain until the end of the war.” Lancer’s first concern upon being summoned was the frailty of his master, and while she was somewhat cross about being underestimated, it was true nevertheless that she was well past her prime. In terms of magic arts she could rival anyone, but her stamina wore out more and more quickly as the years went on.

“Good to hear! I’ll be at a bit of a disadvantage without support from my master, but I’m actually not too bad in a fight. I like to think I’ll have a few things to teach the other servants about battle.” His voice was soft and dismissive, as if to imply humility, but Margaret couldn’t help but feel there was a note of genuine confidence in his words.

“You’ll be at no such disadvantage, Lancer. Take a look at this.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper. “I came up with this design on the plane ride. I needed it to be something simple enough to be drawn repeatedly, but distinct enough to not exist in abundance around us. Would you be capable of drawing this, if I asked you?”

She handed the paper to the servant, who took it, his brow raising and the corner of his lip turning downward. He unfolded the scrap to find that all that was there was a single black dot inside a circle, with three lines extending from the top of the circle, and two lines below it, creating the illusion of eyelashes around an eye.

“I mean, I’m no artist, but I think I can manage something like this. Why?”

“My family’s signature thaumaturgy is a technique called the ‘Roots of Yggdrasil’. Hmm… how to put it simply… Think of my atelier as a great tree, lancer. My family’s art allows me to create roots for this tree, pathways I can send my mana through even across great distances, so long as I designate a symbol to represent that root, and as long as I recreate that symbol in all the places I want those roots to spread.”

“I lament, master, I wasn’t a mage in life. I’m not sure I follow what you’re saying.” He closed one eye, scratching his head as he spoke. 

“That’s why I chose this symbol, Lancer. It makes it a bit simpler to understand. See how it looks like an eye? Well think of it like this: these are my eyes. If you draw one on a wall, I’ll be able to see as though it really were my eye attached to that wall. The more you draw, the more I can see. However, the benefit is more than just letting me see what happens around you. I can send mana through it as well. If you find yourself in a situation where support magic could help you, I’ll be able to cast that magic even in spite of the distance between us.”

“Ah! So you can provide long distance support without risking your life on the front lines. Alright, master, I’ll stop every few minutes and carve one of these little eyes out, then.” He cast his gaze out the window for a moment, smiling. He hadn’t expected that his master would have an ability which would allow him to reap all the benefits of keeping her hidden away and having her fighting alongside him combined. This would make the battles ahead much easier on his conscience. He looked back at his master, planning to give a supportive line about how they could win anything, but was surprised to find she was already looking straight at him, her eyes glistening.

“My family has made an art of living our lives while minimizing contact with others. Our presence is like a curse that drains the luck away from all around us, after all. I imagine that, because you answered my summoning, I’ll visit misfortune upon you someday, too, Lancer. I’m truly sorry about that.” She always spoke with a west-British accent, and tended to enunciate her words carefully so as to betray as little genuine emotion as possible, but he could hear her voice cracking as she said this. He shook his head, reaching his hand out to rest over hers. 

“This may shock you, master, but I’m not a stranger to misfortune. I’m here because I want to be. I guess you could say that I have an established habit of not being able to ignore the tears of isolated women. You remind me of a little sister I knew once.”

“Thank you, Lancer. Regardless of where this journey takes us, I’ll strive to take it alongside you.”

“Right back at you.” They met each other’s gaze, and this time she did her best to try to imitate his reassuring smile. A moment of peace was enjoyed between them, the uncertainty of war still a little ways off to the west, in the direction their vehicle took them toward slowly.

 

Flying Monkey and Wicked Witch  
Apartment Building in Low Income District, Central City  
September 29, 2030  
4:30 PM

The event responsible for this increased western momentum was something many, perhaps rightly, dismissed as an innocuous but annoying prank. All at once, for about a week in the month of January, 2030, the manifold means by which magi communicate with one another were spammed ceaselessly by a uniform message. It came in the form of parchment attached to the legs of familiars, of coded runes suddenly recreated by devices of divination, in the panicked shouts of men possessed by powerful magics, and in more ordinary capacities as well, delivered via letter to the mailboxes of hundreds of members of mage society. For the time, it had become a subject of nigh-universal disdain among those who endured it: the magi equivalent to a Nigerian Prince e-mail.

As inescapable as the deliveries may have been, though, the message itself was quite simple. Less than a paragraph of text that stated its purpose clearly:

To those magi who dare to dream, we of Euphoria have obtained the Holy Grail. Come to the American heartland, for in autumn of 2030, Central City will become a battleground.

The message itself wasn’t as noteworthy as the means by which it was delivered. Across countless decades, equally countless groups had claimed to possess the holy grail. They would draw the gullible to them, only to discover that their counterfeit grails lacked the mana to even properly generate Servants, and the wars they sought to create would fizzle out before they even began. The majority of the mage world dismissed this message as more of the same, and once its onslaught began to die down in February, all but a few had forgotten about it entirely.

Still, more than a few in positions of power were prone to caution, and from that caution was born this meeting. A young man and a young woman, both foreigners in a strange land, had gathered inside a run-down apartment. The young man had been living their for a number of days beforehand, gathering intelligence on what was to come, and when his companion finally came to meet with him, he moved forward to unlock the door and grant her access.

The woman was short, with dark black hair which she kept meticulously cut to precisely her shoulders, framing a thin face and equally dark black eyes which stared out at the world from olive-shaped sockets. She stepped into the living room the instant the door was opened, resting one of her tiny hands wall as she got her bearings with the home. It had clearly been mistreated by whoever had owned it prior to its purchase by the Mage’s Association. The carpet, which she assumed must have originally been white or gray at some point in its existence, had long since taken on a blackish stain to most of its length, and the tan-colored wallpaper that framed the living room was covered in grime, giving the walls a distinctly gritty texture she became aware of as soon as her fingertips touched them. She narrowed her eyes at this, her upper lip curling as she crinkled her nose.

“I apologize for the state of my accommodations.” Her new companion said evenly. His voice was smooth, although deceptively deep for how young he looked. He seemed to be a man in his early twenties; his sandy brown hair was short but scraggly, with bangs poking out from beneath the hood of his sweatshirt like the legs of a spider, and he kept his eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses. “It wasn’t my first choice, but I prefer to travel cheaply, and in my experience no one pays attention to what happens in these parts of big cities.”

“It’s fine. You do you. Can’t say I want to spend a single second more here than I need to, though.” She said, speaking clearly in spite of her slight Japanese accent. She reached into the pocket of her red jacket, removing a jagged red crystal. The gem was about the size of her palm, and glowed ominously as she retrieved it, the magic sealed inside it reacting to the mana she generated unconsciously. She looked to her companion, who nodded his consent, and then she slammed the gem against the clearest, cleanest wall available to her.

“Erenerung an das wort!” She shouted as it shattered into dozens of pieces due to the force, with the glow that had originally filled the gem itself now spreading to the wall, using it as a canvas across which an image slowly formed. It started as a vaguely humanoid shadow, gradually clearing into the image of a man’s bust, before finally filling in the details of its subject, taking the form of a man. He was a bald, middle-aged man of European descent. He stared forward into space with cold gray eyes, his face lightly wrinkled even in spite of the complete even expression he wore on his lips. He was only visible from the waist up, but it was clear he was wearing a flowing purple robe, sealed by a sash around his waist that was emblazoned with the image of a gold raven. 

“Yukiko Takeda and Eric Strenger. This briefing is to be played when you rendezvous with each other in America.” He spoke with a voice so deep it could almost be called a growl. The spell was merely a recording of words already captured ahead of time, so Yukiko didn’t feel bad about shuddering a little when she heard it, since he couldn’t notice and get mad. He was her employer, but everything about the way he carried himself reminded her of an overly strict father figure.

“Upon meeting with one another, your mission to investigate the organization called “Euphoria” and their holy grail invitation begins. Most of the Mage’s Association wanted to ignore the call to this ‘holy grail war.’ We know the location of the true grail, and when it will manifest again, so there was no merit to investigating a mere counterfeit. However, we’ve confirmed that servants have been summoned; Some are exceptionally powerful. To summon even a low-level servant would require a tremendous source of magical energy, so even if this object which Euphoria has in its possession isn’t a true grail, it must be formidable. We of the Association had some unpleasant dealings with these people in the past, so if they’ve gotten their hands on a weapon capable of manifesting servants and conducting an ersatz grail war, it would be in our interests to relieve them of it.

“Eric Strenger, we’ve received word that you have succeeded in becoming the master of Assassin.” This surprised Yukio, who cast a glance toward her young companion. He shrugged in reply, raising the back of his right hand to show her the command seal tattoo imprinted upon it. She had been under the impression that she would be the only agent infiltrating the war, but there wasn’t any reason to be upset at it. One less enemy to worry about.

“Your role will be reconnaissance,” continued the recording, “continue to gather information on the locations of enemy masters and servants, and update Yukiko as they change. You are to avoid direct combat with any enemies, be they masters or members of Euphoria, until the second phase of the mission begins.”  
Eric’s face remained placid. Come to think of it, his expression hadn’t changed once since the moment Yukiko arrived. She wondered if he was one of those ‘emotionless spy’ types, and the thought made her sigh. If she was going to have a partner, she would prefer he have a bit of personality.

“Yukiko Takeda,” the sound of her name caused her to return her attention to the task at hand. She’d have all the time in the world to lament boring partners after the briefing.

“It would be obvious to any mage worth their crest that this holy grail war is a fraud. Thus, we can safely assume that any magus who proceeded to summon a servant and compete is either low-born or desperate. People like that can’t be trusted to maintain and respect the Magi code of secrecy and discretion, so we run the risk of a competitor creating a spectacle that will draw unwanted eyes toward our society. Your task will be twofold. On the surface, you’ll go through the motions of competing in the war, but in truth you are to investigate the area. Try to find the organizers of the event, and eliminate them if possible, but your primary task will be to find the device they’re using as a holy grail, and steal it. If you’re able to return the artifact to the Clocktower without destroying it, your reward will be doubled.

“If you discover a competitor in the war who is making an undue spectacle of themselves, however, you are to give priority to exterminating them. The secrecy of the magi world is of paramount importance. Use your discretion in the field to decide when it’s necessary to step in. Regarding your servant, of the seven classes who participate in the war, the strongest in combat are the three knight classes: Saber, Archer, and Lancer. Unfortunately, our scouts report that representatives of all three have already been made manifest, so our advice is to summon a berserker instead. The berserker class is unruly, and demands tremendous amounts of mana from its master, but in exchange for these limitations they possess great strength and endurance. 

“You now have your assignments. For the sake of security, the two of you are to execute your missions separately, and to interact as little as possible. Yukiko, Eric will give you the address of your safehouse, use it as your workshop during the fighting to come. The Einsbern family has agreed to part with two of their dolls to assist you. Both are low class, but alas, few in the association truly grasp the danger posed by Euphoria. Use them to assist you in providing mana to your servant, and if Euphoria’s grail requires a physical vessel to manifest, like the true grail, they can be used for that purpose, as well. The dolls await you at your safehouse, alongside the catalyst we’ve prepared to help you summon a powerful servant. Best of luck to both of you.”

The image of the man on the wall flickered for a moment, and then faded away, leaving no trace of anything, save the grime that existed there beforehand, remaining on the wall. As if on cue, Eric extended his hand toward her, producing a slip of paper with a few words scribbled onto it.

“Thank you! You know, there’s a flaw in the Association’s thinking. They’re bribing us with money, but if one of us wins the grail, they can just wish for that money, instead. Would save us some trouble, don’t you think?” She winked and stuck out her tongue after saying this. It should have been clear she was joking, but she didn’t know if she could trust one of those gloomy types to catch onto sarcasm, regardless how obvious.

“You can do that if you want.” Said Eric in his deadpan voice, indeed missing her joke entirely. “All I care about is completing my mission. I have no interest in the holy grail.” He traced the outline of the command seal tattoo on his hand, lost in thought.

“What’s this, master? Such language! Servants don’t obey their masters out of the kindness of their hearts. They, too, have a wish they want to cast upon the grail… and they can’t very well do that if their master is so apathetic.” A high-pitched, almost shrieking male voice suddenly protested. The hair on the back of Yukiko’s neck stood on end. The sudden voice was coming from directly behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. She turned her head, eyes wide with shock. A broad, pale face was directly behind her, teeth flashing in a wide grin which revealed inhuman, fanglike canines. Above the smile was a pair of equally uncanny eyes, which seemed more like a cat’s than a man’s, with black corneas surrounding silvery irises and diamond-shaped pupils. Her body reacted instinctively, forcing her elbow into the creature’s face and launching herself away from him, leaping back until Eric was closer to the it than she was.

“Assassin...” Eric said, his voice carrying a slight hint of reproach, as one might use to scold a pet dog for barking. This was assassin? Yukiko had thought that heroic spirits had to be human to be summoned as servants, and this man, although humanoid, was distinctly alien. He stood just shy of eight feet tall, though the tophat on his head made him look taller still. He was dressed as one might imagine a dapper gentleman in 19th century london to dress: with a red doublet beneath his chin and above a black twin-tailed coat and woolen pants. His face aside, his hair was long, greasy and wiry, stretching all the way down to the calves of his long, gangling legs. His arms were too long, as well, with enormous hands and slender fingers that ended in bony, talon-like tips.

“Of course, my wish is being granted as we speak.” Assassin’s eyes met Yukiko’s, and his smile grew wider. “To stalk the streets, to feel the horror of passersby, and to imbibe myself upon the close proximity of beautiful women! Having one more chance to experience these pleasures is all I could ever wish for in this world!”

Eric raised his arm so that it served as a barrier between his servant and his partner, “Behave however you please Assassin, provided you do nothing to hinder my mission, and follow my orders before all else. Now begone.”

“Mmm!” Assassin squealed, his body beginning to fade away. Summoned servants could become intangible on a whim, breaking themselves down into spiritron particles until their bodies were needed again. “And this is why I looove my apathetic master. Farewell, beautiful lady!” He began to cackle, a sound which hung in the air long after he had completely vanished into the ether. The pair stood in place for a moment, staring at the empty space where the servant had been.

“I apologize.” Eric said, looking back at Yukiko with the corner of his mouth pulling softly down.

“It’s fine. I was more startled than frightened. I didn’t know monsters could be summoned as heroic spirits.” Yukiko reassured him. It was true that she wasn’t ‘scared’ per se, but the encounter was definitely all the excitement she needed tonight. She looked down at the paper Eric had given her, grimacing as she realized the address written there was on the other side of the city. She stuffed the note in her pocket and started heading toward the door.

“Spring-heeled Jack.” Noted Eric, with surprising casualness. “Not a monster, really. More of an urban legend based around a botched homunculus who stalked the streets of London two centuries ago.” Normally, masters kept the identities of their servants a carefully guarded secret. If your enemies knew who was defending you, they would know their abilities and weaknesses, so most masters instead addressed their servants by the class into which they were summoned. Then again, Eric did say he didn’t care about the war. 

“Huh, I guess now I know to keep my guard up. Best to learn that now rather than in front of an enemy later. I’m an optimist. I’m going to leave now, Eric, you take care of yourself.” She smiled warmly at him, an expression he reciprocated with his usual stony stare, to the surprise of no one in the room. 

“There was one final warning I was asked to give you,” He walked to the door, opening it up for his partner as she headed out. “The leader of Euphoria is a man named 'Pieceman'. Try to avoid being noticed by him for as long as possible. It cannot be understated how dangerous of an enemy he is.” Yukiko thanked him again, and the pair departed. The war for which they were preparing would begin upon the dawn.


	2. The Players Assemble (Part 2)

Great and Powerful Oz  
Central City, Missouri  
September 22nd, 2030  
09:30 AM

Pieceman was a wisp of a man. His body was so thin and lithe that one would be forgiven for believing that he had no muscle at all on his frame. He was a bit taller than average, but this only served to reinforce his slightness. Slender, long of face, long of nose, and with dark brown hair cut short and parted in the center, he looked enough like a stereotypical nerd even without the large rectangular glasses that shielded his eyes, but if confronted with this observation he’d take no offense. After all, he considered himself quite nerdy, so why not look the part? He stepped into the office, propping his foot up on his desk and raising a cardboard box over his head, as though it were a trophy of war. “Rejoice, my co-workers, for I have brought you all donuts!” The seven other people in the room were stirred from their computer screens by this news, rising to gather around him while exchanging nervous expressions at one another. Their employer was a man none of them had much interaction with, so they were unsure how best to approach his apparent act of kindness.

“T-thanks, boss.” The woman closest to him said as she reached for the proffered box, her voice betraying some of her hesitation. The small room that served as their headquarters was arranged like an office space, divided into seven cubicles that were each wreathed around an imposing mahogany desk that, until today, had remained unoccupied. 

“Y’know what? Don’t call me ‘boss’. I don’t like feeling like I’m being elevated over others. This is a ship that only floats if all hands are at their stations! I’m more of a source of guidance than a ruler. Call me,” He paused, bringing one of his long fingers to the cleft of his chin, and raising his bespectacled gray eyes to the ceiling, as though he were lost in thought, “Call me big bro.”

“Big bro?” Parroted the beleaguered younger woman, her eyebrow raising and her lips twisting into a series of curves. All seven of the hired technicians had uniforms consisting of black t-shirts with a cursive ‘E’ emblazoned on the right breast, with the four men pairing them with matching black denim pants and the three women wearing long black skirts. It created the image of casual uniformity that Pieceman always prided himself in trying to provide. 

“Eww, you know what? Scratch that. Sounds inappropriate. I don’t want anyone to accuse me of being overly familiar with my subordinates, either. That’d be worse than being seen as an authority figure. Go ahead and stick with ‘boss’ just, y’know, say it like you don’t really believe it, I guess.”

“Um… right, er, boss.” One of the men in the back chuckled at this, albeit nervously, as though he was only just sure enough Pieceman was joking to express amusement. For his part, Pieceman nodded his assent to the group, proud of his choice of title, and backed away from the box, giving the group a few minutes to line up and take what they wanted while he retired to the padded black office chair that had been prepared for him. After he was certain everyone had had enough time to take a break and adjust, he decided to start business.

“Alright, my precious new family members. For the past week I’ve been emailing instructions to you that probably didn’t make a lot of sense. I didn’t want to provide context until we were sure our war was going to proceed as planned, but now that that’s no longer in question, I’ll be happy to explain our mission and the role you’ve been playing in it, but before that, let’s go around the room and I’d like you to update me on the status of the subject you were assigned.” 

The order hung unanswered in the air for a moment, as the crew before him exchanged uncomfortable looks, but finally, the first of them mustered his courage and stepped forward. He was a short, heavyset man who looked to be in his early thirties, with a round face made slightly more pointed by his groomed goatee.

“Tin Man arrived in the city four days ago. He checked into the high rise hotel known as ‘The Regent’, alongside his assistant and the ‘Saber’. The three of them engaged in tourist activities around the business district until yesterday. I tracked them purchasing clothing and souvenirs, and gambling at the Regent’s casino every night, although I couldn’t find out how their fortune fared. As of yesterday morning their behavior changed completely. Saber appeared, in isolation, at a campsight near the eastern entrance to the city. I no longer believe Tin Man is at his hotel, but I wasn’t able to find footage of him leaving it.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad they’re having fun. Don’t worry too much about losing track of them. Tin Man is the highest class mage our little game attracted, so he’ll likely prove difficult to track. Just keep your eyes on Saber. When the fighting starts, it’s unlikely his master will risk straying too far to support him. Good job, Randy! Who’s next?”

The smaller man muttered a polite ‘thank you’, and eagerly stepped back into the crowd. The seven of them, called ‘the watchers’, had each been assigned a similar task: they were given the code name and the picture corresponding to seven individuals, and each was told to track their assigned target’s every move for as long as they remained inside the limits of Central City. This wasn’t really as daunting as it sounded. They were employees of Euphoria, the shadow of a legitimate technology company of some significant renown, and each of the seven Watchers had unlimited access to a series of cameras, drones, and microbots that had been covertly installed in the months preceding the grail war project. They had no reliable method for tracking movement inside most buildings, but they could follow the activity of their subjects well enough to be able to reliably predict their general location and activity.

The second watcher to step forward was a mousy young girl who stood just shy of five feet tall. Her pale blue eyes were downcast, and her cheeks were burning red as she scrunched up her lips, clearly uncomfortable to be the center of attention even for a few minutes. Pieceman had selected watchers who matched the general age and gender of the target they were watching; he wanted to dissuade anyone using their open access to spy gear for less-than-savory reasons. He ran a professional operation, after all!

“U-um, Dorothy is still at her apartment in the west district. She’s currently, um, asleep, while Archer cleans the premises. Neither of them, err, have taken any special actions in the past few days.” Her voice was shaky, and she seemed to forget what she was about to say mid-sentence from time to time. The blush on her cheeks had grown gradually deeper as she spoke, such that by the end of her three-sentence report she almost glowed a cherry red.

“Good for you, Sarah! I put you on the spot, and you delivered in spite of your nerves. There’s nothing you can’t do. Who’s next?” Pieceman tapped the fingers of one hand against the palm of the other, clapping politely like a parent who had just watched a small child’s performance. Sarah, for her part, muttered a soft thank you, and the meeting continued. Each of them speaking in turn, although by now Pieceman had already figured out what he wanted to know. The conflict had not yet begun. Once the last of them had spoken, their boss gestured toward their cubicles.

“Alright! Now that you’ve brought me up to speed, allow me to do the same for you. Why don’t you all bring out your chairs, and form a circle around my desk here. This may take a while.” He turned around as his crew scampered off to comply. Behind his desk was a large whiteboard, with a number of miscellaneous notes scrawled on it. Pieceman frowned at this, and pulled the cuff of his shirt sleeve over his hand, using it as a makeshift eraser to clear the old text away from the board, and then reaching toward the base of it to grab the felt-tipped marker that went with it. He drew some basic scribbles in place of what had been there before, admitting to himself that his artistic talents left something to be desired, and by the time he finished and turned around he was pleased to find that his seven-man squad had pulled up a series of desk chairs, and looked up at him silently.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you guys set up!” He cleared his throat, a light redness coloring his cheeks as he returned the cap to his felt tipped marker. “So, listen up, you guys are going to be part of something special: we’re going to help one person have their heart’s truest wish granted. Guess I should start with the basics: who here has ever heard of something called a ‘Holy Grail War’? Show of hands,” As he anticipated, no one raised their hand at this. Only mages would be familiar with the term, and Euphoria prided itself on hiring from the tech sector. Given that the average magus reacted to technology with little more than seething contempt, there wasn’t a lot of overlap between mage society and his staff.

“Didn’t think so!” He expressed, dropping his fist against his palm and nodding. “It’s a very misleading title, anyway. It’s really more of a tournament than a war, and while the object it’s fought over is called the ‘Holy Grail’, it’s not the true historical object. The short version is this: a long time ago three of the most powerful mage families to have ever existed pooled their resources and magical energy and together created an artifact of tremendous power, which they christened the ‘Holy Grail’. This artifact possessed such tremendous amounts of mana that it could warp the very fabric of reality upon a whim, but it also developed a bit of a sense of self. It wasn’t about to manifest itself for the unworthy, so after some stuff happened, the ‘Holy Grail War’ sprang up as a means to obtain it. 

“Seven magi, labeled ‘Masters’, would participate, each selected by the grail itself, which would burn a mark onto their bodies. The seven individuals we’ve had you observe are those magi. I’ll admit upfront that the ‘grail’ I’ve crafted is far from the original, but it’s an incredible simulation, if I do say so myself, and it’s always happy to communicate its will to me! I gave each of the seven masters a code name based on the truest wish of their heart, which my synthetic grail could discern regardless of how they may try to hide it. Needless to say, it’s all very clever. 

“’but what is a ‘Master’ the master of’, I hear you ask? Well, a ‘Servant’, of course! Each mage chosen to become a Master must summon a Servant, a familiar who will serve as their weapon during the war. These Servants are warriors pulled from the pages of history and mythology, manifested by the grail into the modern age to fulfill one of seven roles: Saber, Archer, Lancer, Assassin, Caster, Rider, and Berserker. Once each of the seven roles have been filled by Servants summoned by each of the seven Masters, the ‘Holy Grail War’ officially begins. The seven pairs go to battle with each other, fighting until only one master/servant pair remains alive, and the victor is acknowledged by the grail, which will use its considerable power to make their wish a reality in reward for their valor.”

Pieceman took a break here, inhaling sharply. He reached out for the cup of coffee on his desk and sipped it thoughtfully. His words hung heavy in the air, and the audience he’d gathered continued to look up at him, some uncomfortably, some looking perplexed. That was fine. They only needed to grasp the basics.

“Anyway, don’t sweat any details you don’t understand. Just know that these people you’ve been following are going to start killing each other starting today! Your jobs will be to monitor their locations, and keep me abreast of all changes as they occur. I didn’t obtain an incredible simulation of the Holy Grail so that people could fight for it without entertaining me. Once the war has finished, you’re all going to witness history, so think of the fighting itself as something of an opening act. Now, let’s get to work.”

 

Scarecrow  
Central City, Missouri  
September 22nd, 2030  
11:00 AM

“You little fool!” The elderly man shouted at his son. Granted, not only was his son twenty-eight years old, but he also stood six and a half feet tall, towering half a head over the father and making his choice of words a queer one. The anger he felt was such that he couldn’t appreciate the nature of his semantic error, though, so he continued, heedless of the small smirk on his son’s lips. He stood so close to the young man that not half an inch separated them, and he had to crane his neck upward slightly to have any chance of meeting his gaze. He had narrowed his dark brown eyes, which peaked out from beneath bushy white brows, and his old, weathered lips were bent into a deep frown. “Are you able to comprehend what you’ve done?”

“I’m a better choice to represent our family in the Holy Grail War. My skills at magecraft are far sharper than yours.” Unlike his father, who spoke with a thick Hausa accent, denoting his west African origin, the younger man spoke perfect American English. His voice was deep and rich, enticing the ear of any who heard it, and drawing people to listen even if they may not have a mind to. He put his hands on his father’s shoulders in a gesture that could perhaps be interpreted as affectionate, but there was no love in it. He used the strength of his arms to guide his father backwards, creating distance between them. The ease with which he could do this reinforcing the vast difference in physical prowess between the two men.

“Arthur! How dare you treat me like this. You owe everything you are to me! Every meal you’ve eaten, every dollar you spent, it was only because of me that you could study magic at the Clock Tower. I’m responsible for the skills you’re using to justify robbing me! You are nothing but the end result of my hard work and sacrifice, yet you stand here and talk down to me!?” The elder man balled his hands into fists at his sides. Despite his smaller size and somewhat emaciated frame, he carried himself with the confidence of a man who had escaped death many times and won victory in many battles. His short, curled hair had only a trace of black left, with most having become a whitish gray due to the years he’d lived. He parted his lips, gritting his yellowed teeth as the intensity of his frown deepened.

Arthur was calm, for Arthur was a man who was always calm. His frame was only average in build, but the muscles of his arms and legs were clearly defined and gently swelled. Not a strongman, but no weakling. His skin was a dark as coal, and his eyes only a slight bit lighter, ever staring forward with a gaze that burned with calm intelligence. 

“It is because of your selfless sacrifice that I’m doing this. Please, Father, allow me to use the skills I’ve acquired to repay this incredible debt I owe you. The Holy Grail War isn’t like the battles you’ve fought before, you’ll be facing magi, not soldiers and not gangsters. Deep down, you know you would die if you were to fight. I’ll fight in your stead, and present the grail to you when I emerge victorious.” 

He said this calmly, but it was all he could do to not roll his eyes. His father was quick to play the martyr, but Arthur had lived with the man all his life. Domevlo Iweala was not the kind of man who would do anything that had no eventual benefit for himself. He valued the lives of those around him in dollar amounts, and viewed them as nothing more than investments to increase his wealth, which he hoarded like a dragon atop a mountain of gold. There had never been a time, even in its smallest hour, when Arthur believed his father loved him. Still, this greed and selfishness of his led to pride that bordered on narcissism, so Arthur knew he could appease him by playing to his ego.

“You expect me to believe that you’re doing this for my sake? You’ll go through the trouble of killing the other masters, just to give me the prize for your victory?” The old man was right to be suspicious, as it was a bald-faced lie, but it was a lie Arthur had been preparing to tell for years.

“You know I’m not a clever man. I’ve failed at everything I’ve ever tried. You let me run the laundromat, and I couldn’t keep it profitable,” the laundromat was the shell business that Domevlo’s syndicate used, appropriately enough, to launder the money from their extralegal activities, “I failed as a soldier, and I failed as a scholar. I’ve tried to repay you for the kindness that you’ve shown me, and my own idiocy got in the way. I may not survive the battles ahead, but it’s the only chance I’ll ever have to prove worthy of you.” His lip quivered, and his eyes became bright with barely-restrained tears. Domevlo grunted in annoyance.

“It can’t be undone now, I guess. Go, but I have eyes on you always! If you show the slightest intent of betraying me, I’ll have you killed myself.”

“Thank you, Father!” The tears that had been threatening to fall finally gave way, streaking down his dark cheeks slowly. “I won’t let you down!” The tension was dissipated after this, with the elder man convinced of his mental dominance of his son, and after a few more words he departed, muttering curses under his breath.

The pair had been speaking in the upscale hotel room Arthur was staying in for the duration of the war. It was a gaudy, modern place, with hexagonal chairs and tables that curved and narrowed into spirals of varying thickness. Arthur didn’t understand the design sense, but the rich invested in strange things as a means to show their wealth.

As soon as he was sure his father was gone, Arthur left the living room, heading into the adjacent kitchen area and pulling a bottle of champagne from the courtesy fridge. Above it was a small cabinet stocked with various dishes, so he pulled down a wine glass and filled it to the brim. The air beside him began to waver for a moment, as though he were looking through the haze of a fire, it vibrated more and more quickly until, less than a second after it began, a humanoid form made itself manifest in its place.

“Good morning, Caster.” Said Arthur. Caster’s eyes were the first part of her to make themselves visible- almond-shaped, with bright red irises which had lines extending from the pupil to the sclera, creating a motif that resembled a spider’s web. Her face came into view next, the caramel-brown skin taking unblemished shape around the eyes. She had high cheek bones, and thick, red lips that were almost always turned up at the corner in a knowing grin. Her hair fell around her, curly and black, extending down along her appearing body, which was short, thin, and concealed inside a black dashiki, patterned with a white spider web motif to match her eyes. The robe-like costume tailored in such a way as to hug close around her bosom, accentuating the curve of her breasts. She was beautiful, Arthur thought, and she wanted to call as much attention to that fact as possible. 

“Master, that was so touching! Let us win the grail and make your father proud!” She said, clasping her hands in admiration as her eyes teared up in the same way Arthur’s had before, only to return to normal as she closed them and laughed merrily.

“I’m as devoted to him as he is to me. Seeking a relic like the Holy Grail for the sake of wishing for money. A small-minded wish for a small-minded man. He should be thankful I stole his chance to embarrass himself with such nonsense.” He raised his right hand to her, showing the command seal tattoo that had been made manifest there: eight curving lines arranged in a circle around a pair of triangles that touched one another along edges which hooked up at the ends, like horns. The catalyst for the Servant who stood before him had originally been gathered by his father, who was certain the grail would select him to be its champion. When the tattoo appeared on his hand, it was all Arthur could do not to rub it in the old man’s face until after he had completed the summoning ritual and stole his place in the tournament. 

“Is being small-minded the reason he seems so… gullible? He was willing to accept that you did all of this for him pretty quickly.”

“As he should. I wasn’t certain of what form it would take, but I knew that when the opportunity presented itself I was going to rob him of everything and cast him down into nothingness. For the past ten years I’ve done everything I could to play the role of the incompetent, but eager to please, son. In his eyes, that scene was just another in a long line of asinine attempts to impress him.”

“Oh? For ten years? A span of time that means nothing to me, but you humans are quite short lived. My master’s patience is impressive.” Caster raised a dainty hand to Arthur’s cheek, wiping away the still-drying tears from a few moments prior. “To say nothing of being quite the accomplished actor.”

“A boy who lives his life surrounded by people who want to manipulate him for their own gain will grow into a man who manipulates others for his own gain. A few tears are a trifle if they can mislead an enemy.” This seemed to please caster, who laughed again, this time deeper and louder.

“Oh, Master! Your father may curse you for what you’ve done, but you have my blessing. Wisdom is a commodity to be stolen, and there’s no greater pleasure than to trick the unworthy. It pleases me that you understand this truth.” She was a difficult servant, despite seeming so agreeable. The fact that she appeared in the form of a beautiful woman was proof of that. A heroic spirit who was endlessly deceiving all around her, at times noble, and at times treacherous.

“Enough of insignificant things. Have you found any other servants?” Arthur turned his attention toward the battle that was looming. His servant responded with a nod, pointing a finger upward. He looked to the ceiling, and saw the small black spider perched there.

“Be at peace, my cautious master, for I have eyes everywhere. Saber stands in place at the closed campground in the east, radiating magical energy. Methinks he intends to try to lure another servant into a direct fight, and is awaiting an answer to his call. The Rider duo is near him, staying just far enough away to be able to flee if he turns attention their way. Clearly they don’t trust their ability to defeat him.”

“A wise move on their part. To try to draw a direct fight must mean he’s confident in his combat ability. I’d rather allow the three knight classes to take each other out without my help. Still, if many of our enemies are gathering in one place, we should go as well. It could prove fortunate.” Arthur yawned and stretched. His meeting with his father had left him feeling frustrated, and he relished the thought of venting a bit of the negativity.

“Going to take his invitation? I may be a wise servant, but I have nowhere near enough mana stored to hope to overcome an opponent like that.”

“Of course not. Just going out to say ‘hello’. I’ve been selected to be the Master of Caster, and we shall wage war as casters should. Continue using your spiders to leech mana from the people in the city, stop just short of killing them, and stockpile the energy until the time is right. Now, let us head out to get the measure of those who would be our enemies.” The pair of them nodded to one another, feeling a sort of warmth that comes from meeting a kindred spirit for the first time. Arthur planned to have a quick escape prepared in advance, but there was a combative element to his disposition… a drive to look into the eyes of his opponents and determine their worth for himself. It was the only carelessness he allowed himself to indulge in. 

 

Cowardly Lion  
Central City- Route 13 Truck Park and Campsite  
September 22nd, 2030  
11:15 AM

At the eastern-most end of the city, where the earliest streets of its suburban area only just begin to fight back against the dense forest that filled most of that region of the state, there was a small side road leading off the highway and down into a secluded patch of woodland. In this place, there was a long rectangle of pavement, roughly two hundred yards across, and surrounded by street lights, benches, and foot paths families could travel to explore the nature of the area, or find the camping sites that had been scattered about for public use. 

Normally, this was a place for vacation and rest, where people could escape the hustle and bustle of city life and commune with nature, and where truckers could pull in to get some well-earned sleep in the middle of their long delivery routes. However, heavy rains earlier in the year had caused damage to the road leading into the area, and repairs had been slow coming. With no means of reaching the campsite, it had gone unused for months. There were no trucks, no families, no signs of life- save for the single man who stood stalwartly in place.

He remained motionless in the center of the long, paved parking lot; his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed, and a serene expression on his face. A few feet before him, his sword had been driven into the earth, the blade easily cutting through the pavement and seeming no worse for the wear of doing so, and resting against the sword was a shield. Dean couldn’t remember what that kind of shield was called, but he recalled it looked exactly like the shields he would see carried by knights in picture books. This one was about half as tall as its wielder, and adorned with a lion. 

‘Knight’ seemed to be the theme the guy was going for, too. His golden hair was long, extending to the small of his back, but had been bound into a ponytail by a band tied at the level of his shoulder blades. His bangs were collected into a series of spikes over his forehead, framing the pointed features of his face well and giving him an appearance that even Dean had to admit was attractive. Most telling of his knighthood, though, was the full plate armor he was wearing. His chest was covered by silver plate, which had been polished into a shine, and the same armor extended over his shoulders and ended in sharp points down either of his arms. His legs were similarly protected, since he was wearing those-shit, what were they called? Knight leg things? Greaves? Yeah, Dean was pretty sure that was it. Regardless, his legs were armored too. Between his thin but imposing frame and the pretty face, he was a dead ringer for a knight in shining armor.

Dean had been observing the guy for a while. Like, almost an hour, even. He felt like it was important to impress how long it had been, because good lord had it been a boring slog. He was camped out atop a wooded hilltop a few hundred yards away, peering at the knight-wannabe with a pair of military-grade binoculars. He was only a teenager, and so thin and wispy that he wouldn’t have looked intimidating, even by the standards of other teenage boys. He had adjusted his look to try to be more frightening, as he believed himself to be someone who deserved to be taken seriously. He wanted everyone to see him for the serious threat to their status quo that he was, but even in spite of the snake-bite piercings in his lower lip, his shaved-clean head, and the swastika ear ring in his left ear, people tended to dismiss him as a punk who was trying too hard.

Why did he have to be afraid of such a girly-looking freak? His servant refused to advance, and insisted they just watch things unfold for a while, but to hell with his servant. He gritted his teeth, looking down at the command seal tattoo branded upon the back of his right hand. His plan had been foolproof. He’d never practiced magic or anything, but his family had mage blood in it, and he had a gun and plenty of historical objects that could be used as catalysts. He’d team up with a serious badass and win the Holy Grail itself, maybe he could even use it to start his own empire! The only mystery that remained was who would partner up with him to conquer. Would he get Hitler himself? Goering? Goebbels? Dean spat angrily, just remember how much anticipation he’d had. 

“Hey, traitor. Get your ass out here.” He growled throatily. The sound of a servant manifesting a physical form could be heard behind him, although Dean couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t start until a few seconds after he gave the command. Given the personality of his Servant, he was certain it was deliberate, making him wait just to piss him off.

“Still on with that ‘traitor’ thing, Master?” The gruff voice of a middle-aged man piped up. He didn’t sound angry, just amused. “As a gentleman, treachery isn’t in my nature.”

“History begs to differ.” Dean turned to face him. The teen’s brown eyes meeting the pale gray gaze of the Servant who would be his representative in the Holy Grail War. The older man’s hair was hidden by the black, high-peaked cap he wore, whose bill shaded his eyes in a way that even Dean was forced to admit looked a little bit cool. He was wearing the tan fatigues of the Nazi winter uniform, although the swastikas had been torn off. When Dean had tried to force him to replace them, he was warned that it would take nothing less than one of his command seals to force him to do so. He still wore the uniform though, claiming that ‘gentlemen must respect their enemies, and always dress properly for the battlefield.’

“Loyalty is important, but there come times when loyalty to one man would mean betraying something far larger. Did you ask me out here to discuss philosophy?”

“No, I called you out here to tell you to go kill that guy.” Dean jerked his thumb toward the knight in the distance. His servant looked over his shoulder to get a better look.

“He still hasn’t moved? His discipline is impressive. Leave it to the Saber-class servant to insist on trying to have an honest duel.” The man nodded his approval, straightening his cap as he spoke. 

“Why don’t you give it to him? We’ve been out here an hour. No one else is gonna show. Either go out and kill him or let’s leave.” Dean rubbed his hands over the sleeves of his coat as he spoke, suddenly aware of how chilly the morning was now that he was moving again.

“I have a good instinct for this kind of thing. This secluded place will be where our enemies will gather. If I try to fight him before then, the only thing I’ll accomplish is to be eliminated from the running before the others even arrive. If not my reputation, trust my experience, Master.” He reached out and rested his hand atop his master’s head, rubbing it softly. This elicited a hiss from the boy, who brushed it away in disgust.

“Can’t you at least try to hit him with a missile or something? You have a friggin’ tank! I’m not asking you to go fist fight with the dude.” 

“The Neubaufahrzeug’s turret could reach him, to be sure, but the issue with that tactic is threefold. First, it’s improbable that he’ll be hit by it while he’s on his guard. Second, summoning the tank will consume a tremendous amount of mana, not only will this temporarily immobilize you, it’ll reveal our location to any enemies in the area. Third, if I draw his fury to us directly, I can’t guarantee I’ll be strong enough to fight off his offensive.”

“How the hell are you supposed to win the Holy Grail war if you can’t beat one servant? Didn’t you say you thought it was possible to win after I summoned you?” Dean’s lack of knowledge regarding either the conflict he had thrust himself into, or war in general, was painfully evident. For his part, the Servant accepted his curiosity and frustration with good humor, treating him as though he were a child in need of education.”

“Be at peace! So long as we’re heroic and honorable, we’ll always have a chance at victory. Listen, master, I don’t know why you wanted to summon a member of the Nazi army to be your champion, but that insistence was to our detriment. The more ancient a heroic spirit’s legend is, the more power he’s given when he’s summoned as a Servant. I can’t say who our enemy down there is, precisely, but I’d wager my final Reichsmark that his legend goes back centuries. By contrast, not even a hundred years have passed since my death. The difference in his strength and mine is like that between an adult and a child.”

“Then how the f-” Dean began his protest, but his servant cut him off.

“We have to play to what strengths we have, Master. Fortunately, you summoned me to fulfill the role of ‘Rider’, which is the best case scenario. I’ll be able to keep us in motion more effectively than any other Servant in the war, legacy be damned! We shall have to choose our strikes carefully, attack when the enemy least expects it, and retreat before they can counterattack. I confess that such guerrilla tactics ill-suit a gentleman on the battlefield, but waging war against enemies of greater strength is definitely noble. If worst comes to it, I have a single ace up my sleeve that I’ll be able to use one time without killing you. We’ll have to save that for the eleventh hour.” 

Apparently satisfied with his speech, Rider crouched down beside his master, peering out at their future foe with curiosity. Dean let him do so, his stomach feeling heavy and knotted. He hadn’t known about the strength of a Servant being tied to their age, only that their fame could make them more powerful. Was he screwed? Rider seemed confident enough, but he’d hoped he would be able to directly fight everyone else. He had a goddamn tank! Tanks should beat swords. Nothing about any of this made the sense he thought it had.

“Master!” The sound of his servant’s suddenly excited voice awoke him from his internal complaining, and Dean looked over to see what he was on about. The knight, the Saber, had opened his light blue eyes. Someone had finally appeared before him: A tall, muscular man with short brown hair, a matching goatee, and clad in an expensive-looking ash gray suit. Dean couldn’t make out much about him from the distance, so he fumbled for his binoculars.

“When the time comes for us to make our move, I’ll be materializing Neubaufahrzeug directly beneath you. Be ready to hold on tight.” Warned Rider, clearly not the least bit intimidated by the arrival. If he was talking like that, then this guy was probably another servant. If they were lucky they could take out two of them with one strike! With excited, clammy hands, Dean gripped his binoculars, raising them to his eyes. He may still be watching, but at least now something worth the wait was going to happen!


End file.
